Light (32 page)

The guttural rumbling was so loud now and
the tunnel, thank goodness, was widening.  It seemed that they would soon be
arriving.

Ahead, the light was taking on the most
unnatural hue imaginable.  There was a wall of colour, beyond even the furthest
reaches of the spectrum, but here in this place so far removed from the world
of the living, the impossible could be real.  It hurt even to look at it for
too long and Jake shut his eyes. 

‘Who dares disturb me?’ came a thunderous
voice, the sound of a giant.

Reluctantly Jake opened his eyes and
looked but there was nothing to see just that weird and unearthly colour.

‘I don’t like this.’

Good, Mitch sounded like he was nervous. 
There was advantage to be gained.

‘Pull yourself together.  There is a demon
ahead.  When it chooses it will show itself.’

‘I asked; who dares disturb me?’

And this time the sound flooded the space
from every direction.

‘Show yourself to me.  I am Jacob
Tranton.  A true first-born descendant of Aaron, the High Priest of Israel.’

The ground trembled and the colour ahead
shook.  In the midst of it something was forming.  At first it was just a
hulking thing with little substance but, as it solidified, Jake could make out
texture and form.

It was huge, a monster, dwarfing the two
men like a building.  It was covered in scales; crimson, overlapping scales and
bony ridges that made a perfect body armour.  Its head, high in the air, looked
down on them wickedly with jaundiced eyes, and a hooked beak snapped open and
shut like a hawk.

The demon was ugly but, as Jake realised,
its ugliness paled into insignificance against the sheer horror of his true
enemy, the so-called En Sof. 

This was the Demon of Truth and Jake
braced himself for the confrontation.

‘A High Priest of Israel, are you?  We shall
see.  You shall prove yourself to me.  And who is your companion?’

Jake looked at Mitch.  He could denounce
him immediately but that would only incur the displeasure of the En Sof.

‘He comes to help me.’

‘Already you lie.  If you cannot answer a
basic question truthfully then you have no hope of passing the test.  Know
this, human mortal, if you do not pass my test then I will destroy both of you
utterly.  No part of you will remain to travel to the Heavens or to Hell.’

Jake nodded.

‘You understand?’

‘I understand.’

‘Then, tell me.  Tell me what is your
quest?’

But this was easy.  There was nothing to
fear after all.’

‘I seek the twelve stones of the
Choshen
Mishpat
.’

‘But that is no answer.  My questions are
to learn the truth.  Finding the twelve stones is merely a means to an end. 
Now tell me the truth, what is it for which you truly quest?  If you do not
answer me now then this is over and so, mortal humans, are you.’

Jake looked up at the monstrosity before
him.  This demon was searching for motivations.  It was searching for that
which defined your character.  The answers it wanted came from the heart not
from the mind.  He would try to find those answers.

So why was he embarking on this quest?  He
was seeking the divine Light of the
Shechinah
but with what in mind?  He
did not desire power for himself.  That was something he had never coveted. 
No, there was only one true answer and it was part of the knowledge that still
remained hidden from him, but now he could remember.

In the seventeenth century his ancestor,
Jacob Cordozo, had unknowingly taken the cork from a magic bottle and the genie
had escaped.  That genie, the En Sof, could only be returned from whence it
came if he gained the divine power to return it.  Then and only then would the
world be returned to rights.  That was the truth but how could he admit it?

The En Sof was still there, either within
Mitch, or connected to him in some unfathomable way.  If he told the truth it
would know and poor Faivish would be either destroyed or trapped forever in
limbo.

Which meant that now was the time he would
have to play his hand.  It all depended on whether Lilith had kept her side of
the bargain.

‘Please, I have an answer for you but
there is first something I must do.’

‘You disturb my rest, yet you demand that
I should wait.  This I think is not sense.’

He had to think fast.

‘Who is your mistress?’

‘Do not try my patience, mortal.’

‘No, wait, please.  Your Queen is Lilith. 
Call upon her.’

Jake glanced at Mitch knowing that
everything he said would be passed to the En Sof but for the moment Mitch just
watched.  He just prayed that he would have enough time before the En Sof
realised what he was doing.

‘Call upon her now.’

The air shimmered but the Queen of Hell
did not appear.  Good, she sensed the presence of the En Sof.  The question
was; did it sense her?

Then the voice came, soft and gentle and
in Jake’s head alone.

‘
Faivish is free.  Do what you must
,’
and then it was gone.  Jake wished that there was some way that he could be
certain that she was telling the truth.  For all he knew Lilith could have left
Faivish to his fate in her desire to see an end to the En Sof.  But was she so
untrustworthy?  There was no way to know.  He had to take a chance.   

He turned again to the demon, ‘I am ready. 
I do not want anything for myself.  I seek to destroy the creature that
commands my companion.’

And this time Mitch reacted.  Jake tensed
as he saw Mitch squeeze the trigger of his gun and breathed a sigh of relief
when nothing happened.

‘Your weapons of destruction cannot
operate here, mortal.  I sense truth in the High Priest of Israel.  In you,
however, I sense deceit and darkness.’

‘No!’

And then Mitch began to change and Jake
knew what was happening.  The En Sof was returning to its human host.

‘Quick,’ Jake cried, ‘Let me through. 
Give me the crystal that you guard.’

‘No.  You must answer the second
question.  That is the law.’

‘But there’s no time.  See what’s
happening.’

But, it was too late.  The thing that
stood there was neither Mitch, nor was it the En Sof.  Rather, it was an
amalgam of the two, a human shaped nightmare that palpitated and glowed as if
every single inch of it was alive.  This was the thing that had so devastated
Faivish’s village.

The demon reached down with its taloned
hand and reached for the hybrid.  It grabbed the thing and closed its immense
fist around it.

‘See, High Priest of Israel, how easy this
is for me.  Now I will ask my second question.’

But it was not to be.  Suddenly the
creature stopped and bellowed in pain and rage and frustration.  Something was
happening to its hand.

Its talons flexed and opened and the Mitch
thing dropped to the floor.  In absolute agony the demon inspected itself.

The skin of its paw was boiling, bubbling
like a molten liquid.  Blisters bursting and weeping with puss the colour of
vomit that stank of sulphur each time they popped.

‘You will suffer for that.’

But, even as it made its threats, the
thing that had been Mitch changed again, growing, becoming huge and bloated,
until it was equal in size to its opponent.  All Jake could do was to watch as
the titans commenced their battle.

Every single move the demon made was
countered with ease by the En Sof and Jake saw exactly what he expected.  The
demon was no match for this thing that existed before time itself.  Then, what
would happen to him?

Assuming the En Sof to be the victor then
Jake knew that he would be next.  He had already announced that he was its
enemy and he was in no doubt as to what the En Sof would do to him.  The only thing
he could do was to escape whilst the battle raged.

But escape to where?

The tunnel through which he had come just
led to the bottom of the pit.  The entrance to Sheol was behind the demon who
still somewhere held one of the crystals.  No, escape was out of the question. 
All he could do was wait and hope that an opportunity might present itself.

Already the demon was weakening and Jake
suspected that the En Sof was in some fashion draining it of its energy. 
Sensing victory in its grasp the monstrosity showed that up to that moment it
had only been playing with its opponent.  Its bloated but nonetheless human
hand grabbed at the bony ridge that descended down the demon’s belly and sank
fingers between the scales and into the flesh beneath.

Something cracked and Mitch pulled.  At
once the entire length of bone tore free of the body.  Pink liquid, thicker
than blood, splashed about and poured from the wide open wound and the demon
howled.

Desperate now, it tried with its still
good hand to push its enemy away but Mitch or the creature within him was
relentless.  He grabbed the hand and separated the fingers.  He pulled back a
digit and wrenched.  It snapped and, bleeding the same strange ichor, was
pulled from the demon’s hand.  Then Mitch started to do the same to the next
finger and the demon lashed out with its clawed foot.

Mitch jumped back and grabbed the leg.  He
lifted it impossibly high and twisted.

‘Fool, demon, that you are.  Nothing can
stand in my way.  Nothing.’

And the leg was wrenched off spouting pink
blood everywhere.

The demon collapsed, but it was not
defeated and it still had its vicious looking beak.

Mitch was undaunted.  As the head lunged
so did Mitch.  He intercepted the move with ease and now had the demon in a
vice-like grip.  He squeezed and squeezed, pushing the cheeks together, pushing
the face out of shape, causing those jaundiced eyes to protrude from their
sockets on their stalks.  The forked tongue was forced out through the beak and
Mitch clamped it shut.  The red lump of muscle dropped to the floor where it
remained squirming until Mitch stamped down upon it.

Then he released the demon’s head and
clapped his hands together with it between them.  There was a massive smack, a
squelch, and the demon’s eyes shot out to splatter clear liquid onto the rocky
ground like broken eggs.  Brains, like grey worms oozed out through the demon’s
ears and Jake knew that it was expiring.

But that was not the end and it was then
that Jake understood.  The thing that had been fighting the demon was neither
Mitch nor was it the En Sof.  Rather, it was a fusion of the two.  A beast of
supernatural power but fuelled by Mitch’s own bloodlust and paranoia.  Indeed
it was the Mitch side of the thing that had attacked Faivish’s people and Jake
realised how dangerous his enemy really was.

Even now, with its opponent subdued, its
hatred came through.  It was feeding, that was the only word for it.  Feeding
off that demonic hulk that lay there unable to protect itself and Jake knew
that he was powerless to stop the debauched carnage.

It had opened the wound in the demon’s
chest and, like a wild beast of carrion, had stuffed its head into the blood
filled cavity.  All Jake could hear was the chomping as inhuman jaws worked on
the organs within and the slurping as it lapped up the blood-like ichor.

Mitch looked up and roared his defiance. 
He reached in and grabbed something.  He twisted and wrenched and pulled out a
lump of meat.  Streaming with blood Jake knew what it was, it was the organ
that passed for the demon’s heart.

And then, to Jake’s horror, the En Sof
raised Mitch’s head and with blood-like ichor drooling down his chin stared at
him.  There was no place to run.

As Cherry sits there before the painting
she is struck by a feeling of déjà vu.  Surely this has already happened but
no, how could it?  She has bought the goblet in the auction and savours the
thought of letting Sam know about it.  He always wanted the twin to the one he
owned.  Well, it is too late.  Now it is hers.

Serves him right.

She looks at the canvas, at the anger
displayed there. 
The Anniversary
, a fitting name.

She had begun the painting exactly twelve
months to the second after it happened.  Twelve months ago, when her life
changed.  The girl, Cherry Linford, who had existed then has been replaced by
the woman.  No more is she a slave to her emotion.  Love, the killer, the
destroyer, is gone.  Now she disperses all her emotions by using them to fuel
her paintings...and, unlike the earlier rubbish, these paintings sell.

Love.  Sam destroyed that in her.  She
would never love again.

Until now.

Jake.

Cherry, shakes her head.  It is a dream
she tells herself.  There is no one that she loves, who loves her.  So, who is
Jake?

Jake Tranton.  Of course.  The reporter
who is coming to see her.  He is due at any time.  It is the last thing she
needs.  She will get rid of him as soon as she can.

But wait.  A memory stirs.  A half
remembered dream of a place so far away.  A trek through a strange land
accompanied by a maniac with a gun.  Awful demonic creatures that try to make
her one of them and her rescue by a man.  A man she loves.

Jake Tranton.

No, no, it is impossible.  This is
ridiculous.  Fantasising about a man she has yet to meet.  She has to focus on
reality and stares at the painting, the only thing for her that can be real.

The colours are alive, vibrant.  A swirl
here, a whorl there.  A darkness deep within the vortex, a darkness that draws
her into the violence that underlies the image and she pulls back from the
vision.

It happened a year ago; it is a memory she
does not want.  Sam did that to her.  Sam destroyed her love, almost destroyed
her.  Let the memory remain locked away, merely represented in her art.

She turns away and looks at the
artificially lit studio.  It is all so familiar but something seems to jar.  A
sense almost of illusion, as if...as if what?  As if this is all a fantasy.

Madness.

Cherry stands and walks to the wall. 
Images of death and destruction adorn the bare painted plaster.  All are as
they should be.  The stills taken from
Nuit et Bruillard,
the holocaust
masterpiece.  The photographs of Charles Manson’s family.  The sick, the
maimed, the wounded.  The dead or dying.

Auschwitz, Birkenau, Bergen-Belsen,
Treblinka; all are represented here.  All display their grim message of
hopelessness, of dark, infinite evil and she feels thoroughly at home amongst
their number.

Cherry faces the opposite wall. 
The
Scream
.  Images of souls in torment.  Van Gough, with his missing ear. 
Visions of atavism, man’s animal instinct.  The thing inside.

The En Sof.

Where has she heard that word?

She turns back to the easel. 
The
Anniversary
seems to stare back at her, daring her to enter the madness
that possessed her when she began the painting.

No, she is beyond that.  She needs a
drink.  Must relax, calm down.

Cherry walks to the door and tries to turn
the handle.  It refuses to budge.  She knocks on the wood.  So cold.  A strange
solid sound greets her.  Like stone, not like wood at all.

‘Mum.’

Her voice just echoes hollowly as if she
is standing within an immense empty cavern.

‘Mum.’

But there is no response.

She is overcome by a feeling of utter
despair.  She is trapped without hope..... and Cherry screams.

Her scream pierces everything but there is
no answer, no answer anywhere.

And a verse comes to her.  Seemingly
plucked from the ether.  A verse of foreboding.

There’s a place that is Evil,

A place to die,

There’s a place that is Evil,

It has no sky,

A place of darkness,

Where night reigns supreme,

Where even your nightmares,

Seem like the sweetest dream.

But there is no more and, as quickly as it
appeared, the verse departs and Cherry knows that the Evil Place is here.  It
is not real, none of it.  It is all a nightmare and she must force herself to
awake.

She fails.

Cherry returns to her painting, her
creation, her child, her one true friend, and sits before the easel.  She
selects a brush but there is no need.  The composition is complete.  No, that
cannot be.  There is still work to do but no; it is done.  The painting is
finished.  When?

Help me.  She screams silently but knows
that there is no help for her.

There’s a place that is Evil.

No.

She wants to leave but the only exit is
the door and that is barred to her.  There is not even a window through which
to climb.

Cherry looks again at
the Anniversary
. 
It is so alive.  The painting reflects her soul.  Within its vibrant colours is
the answer to her dream.

She reaches out and touches the canvas. 
There is form and texture.  Her fingers trace a path over bracken, over moss,
over sponge, over the paint that swirls to a deep dark vortex and there it is
empty, a void.

There is nothing to feel.

There’s a place that is Evil.

It calls to her and Cherry stands back. 
It is a place inside her where she refuses to go.  A place created a year
before.

No.  It must be no more.

She walks to the wall.  To the sepia toned
photograph of emaciated corpses being bulldozed into a pit.  Jews, the pitiful
victims of Nazi madness.  Jews...her people.

But no.  She is not Jewish.

A memory surfaces.  It is not hers.  A
baby crying as its mother gives it up.  A baby being taken across the sea to a
place of safety.  England.

And she knows who the baby is.  Her mother
whose parents died at Nazi hands.

Yes, she is Jewish but how does she know?

A vision comes.  So hazy, so confused.  A
world, so far away.

A place of Shadows,

Of haunting Sound,

A place where demons

Of the Soul abound.

Lilith.  The Queen of Hell and she had
become her daughter.

Yes, she remembers.  All of it.  The
ground of Abaddon opening and swallowing her whole and her awakening here in
this room, her studio, as if none of it had happened.

There has to be a way to leave.  Not the
door, obviously.  Through her painting?  But that leads to somewhere she would
rather avoid. 
The Anniversary
.

Then, where?

Before her lies the image of man’s wartime
inhumanity, the butchers of Hitler’s Reich.  It has a quality of depth, as if
it is a window to a hidden world.  Yes, it calls.  She tumbles forward through
the frame and stands in a cold, chill place, surrounded by the dead.

She wears red striped rags.  A yellow star
sown to her breast.  She is emaciated, drawn, but knows that her beauty
remains.

There are others dressed as she, picking
like carrion amongst the naked corpses.  Extracting gold fillings, the hair,
valuables that the dead have secreted amongst their private parts and she feels
envious of those that lie there.

A voice barks an order.

A man in deepest black.  Twin lightning
bars on his collar and she knows who he is, what he wants.  He takes her.  He
pulls her away and takes her to a wooden hut and locks the door.

Within, it is dark, sacking covering one
wall, but empty.

The officer opens his trousers and pulls
out his tool.

Cherry looks at it with loathing and the
man raises his pistol.  She backs away towards the locked door and the sacking
on the wall shreds like confetti blown in the wind.  Beneath is
The
Anniversary.
  An escape.

No.

She turns the key and opens the door,
expecting the gun shot, but none comes.  She steps through and is back in her
studio.

The Anniversary
lies in wait for
her.

She approaches the painting.  It stands
there like some monstrous sentinel guarding a doorway into God alone knows
what.  She stares at the composition and sees it as if she is seeing it for the
first time.  She is the artist, she knows that, but now she understands the nature
of her work in a way that she could never have done before.  When she painted
this thing she had been painting from the heart.  It is a painting that is an
echo of the darker recesses of her mind, and the thought played a part in its
creation came from her subconscious.

The colours are fiery; they are bold. 
There are patterns within patterns.  Structures fashioned out of the formless
voids.

She sees vermilion pathways into places
that only exist in nightmare, places that she would never wish to visit and she
knows that within its depth is the answer to her life.  If only she dares to
enter the dream.

The Anniversary
summons her.

A place that calls you,

Through the deepest Night,

And you must come,

There is no Flight.

It is so tempting to plunge into the vision
but Cherry pulls back.  She is not ready to confront the truth of that dark,
dark night.

The night she almost...

NO!

She runs crying to the far end of the
room.  Desperate to escape the images that are the essential part of her.  She
turns and stares at the half formed thing that stares back at her.  A face
painted on paper.

A face composed of broad strokes of a
pastel crayon.  A sketch really but a sketch of raw emotional power.  The
features are barely discernible.  Just an unformed and crude rat-like mouth, a
shapeless nose but the eyes, they are so sharp.  Sharp, staring, menacing.

It is an image that has a hideous
fascination for Cherry.  A window to that part of the mind that she would
rather subdue.  The Mr Hyde to her Dr Jekyll.

The Creature from the Id.

She turns away to shut out the image but
it remains, imprinted on her retina.  She feels those eyes boring into her like
twin shards of ice burying themselves deep within her psyche.  She turns back. 
The mouth, so bestial, so malevolent, opens and snarls.

‘There’s a place that is evil,

‘A place to die.’

‘No,’ cries the girl, shaking her head,
trying to dislodge the hateful verse.

‘You run, you hide,

‘You scream and shout,

‘But you’re trapped inside,

‘There’s no way out.’

Screaming, Cherry runs to the door and
smashes her fists against the panelling, but it is all to no avail.

‘Let me out.’

But no-one hears.  Only the face of
torment that stares at the back of her head.

She cries, she sobs, she rages but deep
inside she knows.  The poem is telling the truth.

There’s a place that is evil,

A place to die,

There’s a place that is evil,

There is no sky.

A place of darkness,

Where night reigns supreme,

Where even nightmares,

Seem like the sweetest dream.

A place of
shadows,

Of haunting
sound,

A place where
demons,

Of the soul
abound.

A place that calls you,

Through the deepest night,

And you must come,

There is no flight.

You run, you hide,

You scream and shout,

But you’re trapped inside,

There’s no way out.

So come within,

Take your final breath,

The place wants you,

Your future is death.

Reluctantly Cherry approaches
the
Anniversary
.  She reaches forward and stares into the meandering pathways
that lead down deep into the past, to that night a year ago when Sam, when
Sam...

‘Come.’

It calls gently.  And she knows that the
truth awaits.

Her hands brush against the textured
surface, tracing a passage into that deep, dark place that calls unto her.

A current pulls, seizing her wrists, with
a Herculean grip and she falls into the open doorway into the darkness of her
soul.

The place that is evil.